


Leave of Absence

by days4daisy



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Season/Series 02, Unrequited, season 2 finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's morning. He's in a room; white walls and white tiles. Hey, there's Marge. And Danny boy, in one of his godawful beach shirts. </p><p>Is this Heaven? Sad sight, if it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave of Absence

It makes sense. 

Jack's not happy, make no mistake. He doesn't want to die; doesn't think he deserves it. Sure, he overreached. Let Vernon play him for a fool. Doesn't mean he should bleed out in some LA motel. No pomp, no purpose, no posthumous medals. 

But it makes sense.

Jack doesn't see a light at the end of his tunnel. He sees leather shoes on the blood-stained carpet. 

It's cold as the dead of night on outpost. Jack grasps for air like straws and waits for the light to kick in. But the world just fades, dark and dimming.

Figures, doesn't it? All the ambition in the world, and Jack gets to be some anonymous corpse. Blind-sighted, that's the funny part. Never saw it coming. End of the line, Jack Thompson. Just a sad sack of bones.

It's cold. And silent. Until it's not. 

A buzz touches his ear, like a bee on a spring day. It's warm. And bright. About time the light showed up! Jack wrestles shadows, forcing his sticky eyes open.

It's morning. He's in a room; white walls and white tiles. Hey, there's Marge. And Danny boy, in one of his godawful beach shirts. 

Is this Heaven? Sad sight, if it is.

Carter's mouth purses, cross and cute. Sousa looks annoyed; hell, he's always annoyed. Jack likes how his brow pinches and his mouth curls at a corner.

"I'm dead," Jack mumbles. "Didn't you get the memo?" His voice croaks out, underused and desert-dry. 

"Christ, Jack," Sousa hisses, like he was worried or something.

Carter squeezes Sousa's hand. Wait, they're holding hands? 

"Aw, hell," Jack mutters. 

He doesn't curse because of the hand-holding - well, not entirely. It's because he's wrapped like a mummy. He's got on one of those corny hospital dresses. Under that, he's a mess of wrapping and stitches. 

The shot was point-blank. How is Jack still alive? 

It was a man in black. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Silencer on the pistol. Black steel. Black shoes.

He stepped over Jack's carcass on the floor. Went through Jack's bag. And he took - crap. "Carter," Jack rasps.

"You're all right, Chief Thompson."

"Carter, listen."

"It's all right." She places a hand on his forehead, cool and soft. For a second, Jack sees what Sousa likes about her. 

Who's he kidding? Jack has always seen what Sousa sees. There's a reason why Jack rides her case so hard. Carter's not like other dames. She can handle it. She could handle Jack too, if she gave him a shot in hell.

Jack is tempted to give in, but this is important. "He got the file."

"What file?" Sousa asks.

"Here." Carter thrusts a cup at Jack. Water. With a straw.

Jack isn't interested. But when he tries to press on, this awful hack comes out. The cough burns through the hole in his chest. Right. Because Jack's got a damn _hole_ in his _chest_. 

"Do you have any idea how long you were unconscious?" Carter asks.

Couple minutes ago, Jack thought he was dead. Next to the grave, a leave of absence seems small. "The file, Carter. Your file. It's gone."

" _What_ file?" Sousa demands.

"Two weeks," Carter cuts in. "You've been unconscious for two weeks, Jack. You had multiple surgeries. They said you wouldn't..." She trails off, lips pursing again.

Jack wants to give her guff about the sob story. Can't have Marge crying on him, or killer back there. They're getting too sentimental. Might fool Jack into thinking they _like_ him or something.

But he can't joke, because Carter and Sousa are giving him pained looks. This was serious, he realizes. Too serious to mess with.

Point blank shot. How is Jack alive? A shooter with a silencer isn't trained to miss. Unless he wanted Jack alive, with the information about the file.

Doesn't make sense. Neither do the looks Carter and Sousa are giving him. Jack doesn't blame them for being irritated by this mess. But their anger runs deeper than a little inconvenience. 

They've all been around too much death.

He shuts up about the file and takes the straw Carter is offering. The water is fresh and cold. Jack is parched. A little feverish too, or maybe it's the shock of waking up. Two weeks. Long time to have one foot in the ground.

"What file, Jack?" Sousa asks.

"Daniel," Carter hisses. Jack wants to laugh. Married bliss already.

But he can't laugh. He's tired, and he hurts. They're tired too. Dark circles under their eyes and pillows stacked on the guest chairs. A knapsack is open on the ground, wrinkled clothes spilling from the top. 

How long have they sat here staring at him? Did they take shifts? Or did they hold vigil together, waiting for him to croak?

The thought makes Jack smile. "Go home," he mumbles. "M'fine now."

"No." Peggy, of course. Stubborn as a damn mule.

He smiles wider and lets his eyes shut. "She's a keeper, Sousa," he says. "Don't you screw it up."

Sousa might call him something unflattering. But the dark is too comfortable.

*

The room is gone, along with the light. Carter and Sousa stay though. Every once in awhile, they like to hang around. 

Bed's big enough for three. Jack wants the middle, but he defers to the lady. Sousa is on Carter's other side. Jack watches them kiss. It's sweet and slow. 

Jack is the hungry type, eager for action. But them, he watches, because he cares. In here, it's all right to care once in awhile.

Jack tucks his face in Carter's hair. Sousa cups Jack's face, acknowledging him. His brace hand is calloused, rough on Jack's cheek. 

Jack sweeps Carter's hair back and mouths at her neck. "Don't strain yourself," Carter mother-hens. "Pull those stitches, and you're driving yourself to the hospital."

Jack snorts. Maybe at her words, or at Sousa plucking his ear. A silent 'do what Peggy says.' They've both learned by now to do what Peggy says. Jack was just a little slow on the uptake.

"You got it, Marge," he murmurs. His agreement earns Carter's smile. Sousa kisses down her jaw. 

Not a bad sight. Would be better if it wasn't a dream. Ah well. Always is. Always will be. 

*

At least Jack is alive, waking in one of Stark's too-many guest rooms. There's a portait of Howard on a yacht above the headboard. Jack wishes he had something to throw.

Bandage duty has fallen to the butler for the evening. Jarvis hates this process, and he hates Jack. Jack can't blame the guy. In his defense, the baking soda laundry tip was a good one. 

Also in Jack's defense, he really hates Los Angeles.

Jarvis goes easy with the unwrapping and re-wrapping. But he works with an impressive glare. 

"Carter n' Sousa around?"

"At the office," Jarvis mutters.

Jack is beyond ready to get out of this bed. He's been recuperating for weeks, a restless mound of nerves. But just sitting up for bandaging leaves him drained. 

"They ok?" he asks.

At this, Jarvis cracks. He's clearly still aggravated, but a touch of pity reaches his eyes. "Yes. They're quite all right, Chief Thompson." The final bandage taped, Jarvis leaves him be.

Course Carter and Sousa are good on their own. Just the two of them. Why wouldn't they be? 

Jack still can't remember the man's face, or puzzle out why he stole the file. To discredit Carter? Or is the doc more than some cooked up phony? Maybe the file is in Peggy's name, but there's something else in it. Something the guy wanted to shut Jack up about.

Only, Jack is alive. Makes no sense. 

Jack can't move. Can't do anything to help. He's stiff and sore, like an awful cold he can't shake. 

He sighs and tips his head back on the pillow. Still here. Still useless. 

At least he sleeps a lot. And sleep brings dreams. Maybe Jack will have the same one again tonight. Probably not a good thing, but he can't say he'd mind.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) ^_^


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